


Bullet

by totally_absurd



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Crime AU, M/M, Rating May Change, because Akashi is always the boss, cliche story is cliche, homeless delinquent Aomine, mafia boss Akashi, mafia prince Kise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totally_absurd/pseuds/totally_absurd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Well,’ Daiki thought studying the gun pointed at his head with bemusement. ‘Guess, that would be it, huh?’</p><p>Or the Crime AU that sneaked up on me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Careful what you wish for

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm doing this. This is not one of the stories I've been working on for months, this is something that just popped into my head yesterday and won't leave me alone.  
> Crime AU AoKise with lots of cliches and Kise Ryouta as a spoiled snotty brat.

‘Well,’ Daiki thought studying the gun pointed at his head with bemusement. ‘Guess, that would be it, huh?’

It wasn’t such a bad way to go, all things considered. It certainly beat wasting away from starvation or catching some unnamable disease from the other street rats that he lived amongst. And he would go with the bang, like he always wanted to, even if it was not the bang he originally had in mind.

Maybe the bullet will even smash his brain fast enough for him not to feel any pain.

Futile hope, that one.

“So,” a voice drawled penetrating his existential inner monologue.

Daiki reluctantly raised his gaze to the man holding his death by the grip. His executor looked impeccable from the top of his green hair - which would have been hilarious if Daiki wasn’t the one at the wrong end of the gun -  to the tips of his polished shoes. He was standing tall, looking down at Daiki’s form sprawled on the concrete floor of the warehouse with his mouth curled in disdain. Or maybe he wasn’t looking, since it was hard to tell with rectangular glasses perched on his nose reflecting the sparse light from the windows.

“So?” Daiki parroted knowing full well that his loose tongue might just hasten his imminent demise. Better sooner than later anyway.

The man’s glasses glinted maliciously.

“I asked you. Why did you think it would be a good idea to go stealing on this territory and why on earth did you think that it would be a good idea to show resistance when you were ordered to scram?”

Yeah, well, the latter was not one of his brightest moments. No use lamenting it now.

“Look, dude, I don’t know shit ‘bout territories and your guys didn’t explain shit. No one has the right to order me around. At last not without paying for it with money or their teeth.”

‘Say you’re sorry and promise to never do it again’ scenario never did work for Daiki.

There was a distinctive sound of the gun safety clicking off and Daiki closed his eyes preparing for the inevitable.

“Shintarou.”

It was said quietly with no emotion coloring the single word, but the lack of decibels did not make the voice any less commanding. The person speaking expected to be heard and obeyed regardless of the circumstances. 

“Akashi, I will be finished here shortly," the guy, whose name was apparently Shintarou, answered without turning. But instead of the footsteps retreating and leaving Shintarou to finish his business, it sounded like the mysterious Akashi was approaching them. The man with the gun frowned, seeming to notice that as well.

“Akashi?”

The person that emerged from behind Shintarou’s back was not at all what Daiki would have expected judging by the voice alone.

Akashi was short, at last eight inches shorter than the man who was obviously under his command. His head, full of blazing blood red hair, was held up haughtily, but somehow, instead of making him look like a stuck up kid, it brought something almost regal to his stance.

But even more terrifying than his imposing presence were the heterochromatic eyes that gazed at Daiki with the cold contemplation. One crimson red to match the hair and the other topaz yellow only lacking a vertical pupil to make it look like that of a cat. Daiki felt the chill run down his spine that even the gun hasn’t been able to elicit.

Akashi shifted his eyes to his subordinate.

“So this is _the_ _kid_ who managed to take out five of your men before you were able to detain him?”

Daiki bristled.

He _was not_ a kid.

Though, just as quickly as it came, his scowl was replaced with the smug smirk, because Mr. Green bristled as well, catching the obvious insult in his superior words. Visibly reigning in a more scathing retort, Shintarou pursed his lips and nodded.

Akashi’s gaze returned to Daiki.

“What is your name?”

Now, Daiki _was_ contemplating a quip, but decided that he had already filled his quota of bad decisions for one day.

“Aomine Daiki.”

“Dai-ki,” Akashi said as if testing the name on his tongue, to see if he liked the sound of it. “Hm, I believe I heard you saying that a sufficient payment would be the key to your obedience, is that right?”

That was not exactly what Daiki said, but while he was not known for his intellectual prowess, he was not fool enough not to see a beneficial offer when he was given one.

The outraged look on his almost-executor’s face was a nice bonus as well.

“It might be.”

A ghost of a smirk flitted over Akashi’s lips. Apparently that was a good answer.

“Well, Daiki. As you’ve probably already gathered, I have an offer for you. A job offer.”

“And what would it consist of?” Daiki asked cautiously matching the tone of his possible employer, the guy obviously didn’t run a flower shop chain and it always paid to be careful when someone offered you money.

The look he got in return was asking if he really thought he had a choice in the matter.

One thing that living on the streets taught Daiki was that any judgment that might come later was not worth a bother if your stomach was constricting with pain from the sheer emptiness. But there were lines, though somewhat blurry ones, which he would not cross, even under the barrel of the gun.

Akashi seemed to understand that, because after a moment of silence he elaborated.

“You see,” he said with the put upon sigh. “I need a guard for something really precious to me and you seem to fit the requirements for the job. You would be of course paid very generously and will have to live in the manor with the rest of the family.”

Yep, definitely not a flower shop.

But that was vague as far as explanations went. The guy was obviously omitting something and Daiki didn’t miss the grimace that passed over the green haired man’s face. But on the other hand he was offered two things that he didn’t remember ever having in affluence: money and the roof over his head.

It was probably dangerous, had to be, but then Daiki wasn't exactly living in a safe environment.

Pros were so far overweighting the cons.

And really, it can't be much worse than what he had now, he thought giving his affirmative answer.

He would regret that thought later.

 

Kise Ryouta would not call himself spoiled.

Privileged, yes. That would be the word he would use.

Being the youngest son, he was always doted upon and in the family that had never wanted for anything that meant he was spoiled rotten by all the things money could buy.

And as far as Ryouta was concerned, money could buy anything.

Or anything except for freedom he wanted so much.

His older brother, who was now running the family with an iron fist and hawk-like eyes, apparently didn’t consider his desire to go out and have _fun_ a basic necessity, and with the death of their parents and the threat hanging over their own heads only the basics were allowed. Apparently.

The problem with that arrangement was that Ryouta was slowly starting to climb the walls from the _sheer boredom_.

He even let Momo-cchi paint his nails pink, which he was now seriously regretting because he had no idea how to take the blasted paint off and the hellish woman was gone on assignment and not due to return any time soon.

His next logical step would be to start banging his head on the wall.

Or… he paused just now coming to the realization that he was very much alone.

Well, no, not alone in the strictest of sense, but in all sense that pertained to his current problem.

Akashi was out, taking his loyal dog Midorima with him.

Murasakibara was probably in the kitchen munching away on the never ending supply of snacks and annoying the cook with his unhealthy eating habits.

The only person who might pose a problem was Kuroko-cchi, because while he was nowhere to be seen, that did not mean that he was not around.

But maybe, just maybe, the luck would be on Ryouta’s side today and there will be no one to stop him from walking out of that blasted door.

He should have known that he already exhausted his luck limit for the lifetime the moment he was born.

Just as he was about to step out on the porch, a sleek black car pulled into the driveway.

Unfortunately, Ryouta knew exactly who that car belonged to. And unfortunately for Ryouta it was the last person that would ever let him leave the house.

His hand squeezed the door handle in frustration.

Just as the car came to a stop, Ryouta schooled his features back into the look of boredom and forced his body to relax as much as possible. Judging by the narrow eyed look his brother sent him as he got out of the car, Ryouta’s last-ditch attempt at nonchalance was not all that successful. His attention was diverted however, when the next person to step onto the driveway was not Midorima he was expecting to see.

A dark skinned young man, probably somewhere around Ryouta’s age, was looking at the house with astounded midnight blue eyes, his lips parted a little in awe.

Ryouta wrinkled his nose. The newcomer’s clothes were shabby and dirty. He could only imagine the smell, but rather wouldn't.

“Akashi-cchi,” he drawled still grimacing in disgust. “I thought you promised not to bring work home.”

He felt the young man’s eyes snap in his direction, but didn’t pay him any attention.

Akashi took a step forward.

“Ryouta, I know that you don’t like being coped up in the house all the time,” he said ignoring Ryouta's jab in the dark skinned man's direction.

_Oh, shit. Not the lecture, please._

His desire to protest must have been written on his face, because before Ryouta could even open his mouth, Akashi’s hand rose in a halting gesture.

“I found the solution to that problem. You can now go wherever you like, within reason of course, but you must always have someone to escort you.”

“But…”

“Please meet your new bodyguard. This is Aomine Daiki.”

Ryouta’s mouth fell open, eyes darting to the equally shocked face of his would-be bodyguard.

Careful what you wish for, was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. Kise is not very likeable right now, but that was intentional, he will grow as the story goes.  
> Hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Please, let me know what you think =)


	2. Too bright to be real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly had Daiki gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the second chapter. Yay! I hope there's not a lot of mistakes left. I tried, but you know, not being a native speaker and everything =) Not much action, some explanations, a lot of talking is what awaits you. Brace yourself =)

Daiki’s lack of language skills was not at all surprising, considering the only education he ever received was given at the orphanage school that had more kids than breathing room and only one teacher for all subjects.

Then again, maybe it was him leaving said orphanage at the age of eleven that had more contribution to the abysmal state of his education.

Whatever the reason, he still had enough knowledge to say that when referring to a person one was supposed to say ‘someone’, not ‘something’.

The fact that that someone was currently regarding him with the shocked disgust painted all over his pretty doll-like face only added more salt to the already smarting injury.

It’s not that such looks were something unusual. There were always people who viewed lack of money as some sort of deficiency that made those not born with the silver spoon in their mouths somehow inferior. They turned their faces and wrinkled their noses in disgust as if his poverty was something dirty, something contagious. And by gods, he _should_ be used to it by now, but for some unfathomable reason it still hurt every single fucking time.

The young man on the porch was just like any other stuck up asshole that Daiki encountered before. The only thing making him different was that Daiki would be supposedly glued to his side for the unforeseeable period of time and thus forced to endure the snobbish behavior on daily basis.

But it was worth it.

The money and the opportunity to finally get out of the gutter were worth having to spend his day with an annoying brat that equaled him to the dirt on the soles of his shoes. And as soon as Daiki was finished with this job, he would be free to do what he wanted and go wherever he wanted to.

He just needed to be patient for a while. As patient as he can be.

Which was unfortunately not much.

“You don’t mean to tell me, that in order to get out of this _prison_ ,” the young man named Ryouta waved his pale long-fingered hand in the direction of the house. “I have to take _this_ with me?” The hand then pointed accusingly at Daiki, marking him the source of all the misfortune in its owner’s life.

“Ryouta,” Akashi’s voice wasn’t even exasperated. “You know the situation perfectly well.”

Which was returning Daiki to his main sore point at the moment – he didn’t.

Ryouta huffed an annoyed breath, tossing his sleek blond hair away from his face and gave Daiki the answer he was looking for.

Or at last the watered down and heavily sarcastic version of it.

“Yes, yes. There’s a rebellion brewing in our perfect little empire and you don’t want to negotiate the price of my fingers if they’ll decide to use me, or rather parts of me, as a bargaining chip. So I need to have a bodyguard,” he said as if reciting something that had been repeated to him countless times, the “even though I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself” in the last sentence unsaid, but glaringly obvious. “ _Fine_. What I don’t understand is _why him_? Where did you even dig him out from?”

The last question was once again filled with repugnance for the sole thought of having someone like Daiki come near his majestic self and Daiki, who was hanging by the last thread of his patience for the entirety of the conversation, finally exploded.

“I’m still here, if you haven’t noticed! Maybe it’s a bit difficult to comprehend with all that bleach seeping into your brain, but living on the streets doesn’t turn people into animals, I can still understand you and talk perfectly well.”

The blond man looked at him as if he grew a second head.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to _you_ ,” he said finally turning his gaze in Daiki’s direction. “You’re not the one making decisions here and…”

“Ryouta, that’s enough,” Akashi’s voice interrupted before the argument could escalate. “ _My_ decision is final.”

Ryouta’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

“Fine!” He repeated, his slanted eyes shooting daggers in Daiki’s direction. “But if he even thinks of coming near me before taking a shower and changing into something clean, I _will_ run away.”

He punctuated the last statement with the stomp of his foot like a capricious five year old and then stormed into the house slamming the heavy ornate door with the surprising force.

Daiki honestly didn’t know if he should laugh or slit his wrists.

He turned to Akashi, ready to face the reprimand for badmouthing his...  What was that guy anyway?

But instead of the cold gaze he got so used to for the last couple of hours he found his new boss almost... smiling?

Well, no. It wasn’t a smile in any conventional sort of way. His face was still a mask of the cold indifference, mouth set into the straight line, but there, in the corners of his eyes, small crinkles softened the whole picture into what was probably the most genuine version of a smile Daiki would ever see on that regal face.

It was gone as soon as Akashi noticed Daiki looking is his direction.

“As you would have already known, were we allowed to make proper introductions, this was Kise Ryouta, my younger brother. You would be in charge of his safety for the foreseeable future,” he said, eyes flickering briefly to the closed door.

Daiki bit back a sigh. Should he point out that Akashi’s very precious ‘something’ had quite the disagreeable attitude and would have been nice to be warned about it in advance? Will that even change anything?

As always, his mouth made the decision for him.

“Should’ve said you needed a babysitter,” he grumbled not quite looking into Akashi’s eyes.

Now this time the red haired man’s lips curled into something that was probably supposed to be a smile, but the shiver of dread that run up Daiki’s spine was not quite in agreement with that description.

“Ryouta is indeed a handful, but I am sure you will find a way to deal. After all your objective is to keep him safe, not befriend him.”

Right. Not a reprimand, but a reminder not to forget his place. Twice in ten minutes now. At last Akashi was somewhat nice about it.

Daiki nodded silently, barely holding himself back from blurting out the infinite array of questions running through his head.

Who was rebelling against Akashi? Why did the brother he was so intent on protecting have a different last name? Why was Daiki chosen to protect said brother instead of one of Akashi’s trusted, trained men?

But the most important question, the one that probably not even Akashi would be able to answer for him was: what exactly had Daiki gotten himself into?

 

***

The length of Ryouta’s room from the door to the scenic window was exactly ten paces if one did not take into account the space occupied by the flower pots.

But then if he made his strides longer it would be nine.

Nine steps to the window, turn around, nine steps back. A perfect pattern to wear a hole in the carpet or annoy the person residing on the floor below you to death. Right now though Ryouta didn’t give to shits about the carpet or anyone he might have disturbed with his rhythmical pacing.

Right now he was dearly tempted to check if the steam was actually billowing out of his ears for all the fury boiling inside of him.

It was not enough to be locked in like some criminal on the house arrest. Now he had to drag that rude unwashed cretin everywhere with him. Ryouta’s leg flew up kicking the empty air, wishing there was actually something to make that satisfying crush, to break the silence and the tension permeating the room.

“You can always kick the bed, though it might be a little painful,” the voice commented monotonously from behind him and Ryouta’s heart did a pirouette worthy of the best circus artists.

“Kuroko-cchi!” he exclaimed turning around to see the man standing in his doorway and theatrically flattening one palm to the left side of his chest. “You _are_ trying to send me into a cardiac arrest. You know Akashi-cchi won’t like it if you’ll actually manage to kill me after all the precautions he took to keep me safe.”

Kuroko’s eyebrows twitched as if trying to quirk, but, probably by the force of habit, stayed in place. He stood unmoving and stoic as ever, one hand resting on the door handle and hair sparkling in the sun like a spring water. Ryouta always thought that if Kuroko was a girl he would look like a forest nymph with his aquamarine hair and eyes to match, with that translucently pale skin. He would never say it to the man himself though, he still valued his life after all.

“You’re too young to have a heart failure, Kise-kun.”

“I’ll have you know that ‘as many as four to ten percent of all heart attacks occur before age 45, and most of these strike men’,” Ryouta recited, voice bursting with fake importance and indignation.

Kuroko gave a mighty sigh of a man resigned to the fate of constantly being surrounded by idiots.

“Midorima-kun would be very annoyed when he finds out you were pilfering his medical journals again.”

Ryouta sniffed and turned his nose slightly up.

“I wasn’t _pilfering_ them. He left them in the library and I was bored.”

“Oh, so you thought that dissection and heart diseases would be good entertainment?”

Ryouta groaned, burying his hands in his hair.

“Kuroko-cchi,” he wined, making Kuroko’s face scrunch up in a pained grimace at the high-pitched sound. “Did you come here just to bully me?”

“No. Akashi-san wants to see you. He’s in the library,” the blue haired man informed him.

Ryouta felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance.

“Oh,” he drawled in the most condescending manner he could master. “I hope he’s finished with his foundling, I’m not sure I can stand to be in the same room with him before he got a proper wash up.”

The temperature of Kuroko’s icy blue gaze suddenly dropped a few degrees.

“Aomine-kun has been escorted to the room he will be occupying,” somehow the blue haired man had managed to make his toneless voice even more flat, while saying it. “You should go. Kise-san. You know Akashi-san doesn’t like to wait.”

And just as suddenly as he came, Kuroko disappeared, leaving Ryouta confused as to the reasons for the sudden change in his demeanor.

Out of everyone Ryouta knew Kuroko Tetsuya was the man most particular about the use of honorifics. Even the ever so stiff Midorima usually left them off, considering most people not worth the honor. Kuroko never addressed anyone without adding at last the perfunctory “-san” at the end. He never misspoke, using the suffix he didn’t intend to, and Ryouta became Kise-san only when he did something that went against Kuroko’s principles.

Only right now he had no idea what it could possibly be.

 

 He found Akashi in the library – just like he was told he would – his nose buried in some probably not that important papers. Akashi never needed much time scan over the documents, having a keen eye for significant parts and filtering out all the unnecessary drivel. He only pretended to be occupied by the paperwork when he wanted the person to think he was not paying attention while watching their every move.

Ryouta was not one the people still fooled by that act, though he usually pretended to be.

“Onii-san?” he called, after taking a few steps into the room and closing the door. That form of address was something he used only when they were alone, such familiarities did not inspire deference in people who were essentially trained killers.

Akashi lowered the papers and gestured for Ryouta to sit.

“So, are you going to tell me since when do you pick your men from the trashcans?” he said before Akashi could offer anything. This was again something he was only allowed to do in private, being a brother did not exempt him from subordination.

“You know the problems we are facing right now. And you know that the only people I find capable of protecting you, could not be spared at the moment.”

“And you believe this… foundling of yours to be capable?” Ryouta asked coating every word with the heavy layer of skepticism.

“He took out five of our men, before Shintarou was able to subdue him. With the use of the gun.” Akashi informed him, the flatness of his voice nearly rivaling Kuroko’s.

Ryouta was grudgingly impressed and it took all of his well-honed restraint to not let it show on his face.

 "You know I can do that without even breaking a sweat. But you still think that I can't stand up for myself,” he countered, the bitterness not quite absent from his voice. Years of training, bruises and sweat and he was still considered a damsel in need of protection. Thanks, ever so much.

“Ryouta,” the tone, with which his name was spoken, made Ryouta lift his eyes from the table he was up to that moment studying intently, and look his brother in the eyes. “We had this discussion countless times. I know you are strong, but you are also too important to be left without some added protection. Someone needs to watch your back and I find Aomine Daiki capable of being that someone,” he said with finality.

Ryouta really wanted to object. His mouth was full of protests and questions: ‘Why am I always being treated like a kid?’ ‘Why couldn’t you find someone nicer?’ ‘Why do you believe in a stranger you picked off the street more than you believe in your own brother?’ They seemed like important questions while he was thinking about them, but formulating into actual sentences turned those questions into petty complaints, not worth brining up in such a serious conversation.

So he sealed his lips and swallowed all of those protests down, grimacing as if the bitter aftertaste in his mouth was real instead of imaginary.

And if Akashi thought his smile was a bit too bright to be real, he didn’t say anything.


	3. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet, you were not expecting this =) But I did it! New chapter of Bullet is here, hope you still want it.  
> I'm, sorry it took so long! (ducks behind the table).

“Sooo,” Daiki drawled slowly, a small note of incredulity creeping into his voice. “You’re the cook then.”

The guy in front of him was easily Daiki’s height and though he had no way to know the exact measurements, he knew himself to be far from lacking in that department. The hair on top of the cook’s head was dyed dark red with natural black peaking underneath the flaming mop and his black bushy eyebrows made it look like he had a permanent frown etched into his forehead.

He looked like he’ll be good with the knife alright, just not around the kitchen.

The cook, who introduced himself as Kagami Taiga barked out a short laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners and softening his feral features a little bit.

He was still a scary motherfucker though.

“Yeah, that would be me,” he answered with the grin that showed two rows of sharp looking teeth.

“Well,” Daiki was at loss for words. He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting the cook to look like, but Kagami Taiga was definitely not it.

The grin got wider.

“What? Were you expecting an apron clad portly matron with a spatula in one hand and a rolling-pin in the other?” He asked in obvious amusement.

“A rolling… what?” Daiki asked automatically and raised his hand in halting gesture when the guy opened his mouth to explain. “No please don’t,” he said hurriedly.

Kagami smirked.

Daiki sighed.

“Look, this wasn’t exactly on my schedule for the day. Besides when someone puts a gun to your head you don’t really contemplate who cooked his omelet this morning.”

This provoked another bout of barking laughter accompanied by Kagami bending at the waist and slapping his palm on top of the kitchen counter.

“God, you’re a funny son of a bitch, aren’t you. Boss sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

The smirk was back and Daiki bristled. He didn’t like to be made fun of, especially if he was not in on the joke. New guy or not, he wasn’t a pushover.

“Look…”

“Relax, will you?” Kagami interrupted, holding his hand palm up. “’m just teasing you. You _are_ funny though, as in what you said was funny.” Kagami raised his eyebrows, hitting a higher note at the end of the phrase, almost posing it as a question.

Daiki relaxed, embarrassed at his outburst.

“I must say though,” the other man continued, tone casual, too casual to not be a warning. “That attitude of yours might not slide as smoothly with some other guys here. And I’m not,” he added, seeing Daiki tense, “trying to intimidate you. You’re obviously not some shrinking violet. You know where you are and you know what people in this business are capable of. Not everyone here is violent, but that does not mean they are not dangerous. Even our dear Ryouta-chan can cut throats like butter if provoked enough.”

A derisive scoff tore out of Daiki’s lips before he could stop himself. As far as he was concerned, the only fighting technique _Ryouta-chan_ was capable of was annoying his opponents to death. Kagami laughed again, as though Daiki’s facial expressions alone were a running comedy.

“Met him already, I gather. A pesky little shit ain’t he?” he asked, mirroring Daiki’s thoughts, but despite offhand words, there was something almost affectionate in his voice, like he was a parent talking about the misbehaving child. “He’s a spoiled brat, I’ll give you that. But don’t let the princess routine fool you, that kid has been training since he could walk.”

“If he’s so strong, why’d he need a bodyguard?” Daiki couldn’t help but ask.

“Because he _is_ a princess, the one thing that dragon wants. And even if he was the best fighter in all of the family, that still wouldn’t render him invincible. There’s got to be someone to watch his back.”

“Or be his shield.” Daiki added, the other man only inclining his head a fraction to the side nether confirming nor denying the words.

They both were silent after that, Kagami occupying himself with preparing a plate of food – which was actually what Daiki came down for – and Daiki taking a look around the impeccable kitchen. Granite counter tops and expensive looking appliances all shone as if polished to perfection. It looked like a picture out of the catalogue, just as a room that the maid showed him to two hours ago and that was supposed to be his from now on…

 

_Luxury was a concept foreign to Daiki’s world and standing in the middle of what was supposed to be his room from now on, he came to the conclusion that the vague notion residing in his head did not even come close to what this family considered to be luxury._

_It was easily the size of their dorm room in the orphanage. Only instead of ten single beds crowded together so closely that it left almost no place to stand, there was only one plush looking bed that could probably fit three of Daiki and still allow them to be comfortable. It was modern and simple, everything was done in pastel colors and shiny surfaces gleamed at him right and left._

_It looked sterile, as if no one had ever lived here before. And maybe no one actually did. In a house that big there were bound to be some unused rooms, maybe even a dozen of them._

_Daiki took a couple of steps into the room still disorientated from all the events of the day._

_This was… home, he supposed. For a while at last, this was his and the thought was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. All of his most prized possessions could fit in a small bag dangling from his shoulder and they all probably cost less than a lamp on the nightstand in front of him._

_He did not fit here, just like Kise said, he was dirty and rough around the edges. He only saw proper bed when his pride was too worn out to stop him from going to a homeless shelter. This was no fairytale and he was no Cinderella. Why would he ever…_

_“The bathroom is through the door to your left,” quiet voice cut into his self-deprecating thoughts, making Daiki jump out of his skin. He span on his heels, almost falling down, but catching himself at the last minute and gaped at the blue haired man, that regarded him calmly form the doorway._

_“Who are you?” he demanded incredulously and rudely, but, well, Daiki was always rude._

_The blue haired man didn’t even flinch from the loud sound of his voice. The slow blink of the large crystal blue eyes was all the reaction Daiki got before the same quiet voice answered his question._

_“I am Kuroko Tetsuya. Akashi-san asked me to find you some clothes.”_

_“I don’t think your clothes would fit me,” Daiki said pointedly looking up and down Kuroko’s figure._

_“No, they won’t,” the other agreed easily, seemingly not offended remark at his stature. “I’ll ask Kagami-kun, he’s the closest to your size here. You can get something of your own later”. And then he was gone, leaving Daiki gaping at the spot that he just occupied, in the middle of the room that looked luxurious, but not in the last bit welcoming._

 

A plate full of food landed in front of Daiki with a soft clang, starting him out of his musings. His companion’s eyes were on him once again and dancing with amusement, but surprisingly his temper, that was bursting like a flame just minutes before, remained quiet.

He started on the food, trying not to shovel everything in his mouth like a starved animal. It was a long time since he’d eaten a proper home cooked meal and never something so generous and tasty. Kagami lingered a few moments longer before starting for the door.

“When you’re finished put everything in the dishwasher, it’s next to the sink, I have some errands to run,” he gestured to his right and then paused.

“If it’s any consolation,” he added suddenly changing the topic one eighty and returning to their earlier conversation, “They most likely would want him alive.”

It took Daiki a moment too long to understand what he was talking about and by that time Kagami was already gone.

Daiki sighted.

No it wasn’t any consolation at all.

 

***

Unbelievable was one word for it, but Ryouta rather preferred insulting. Because that’s what it was – insulting. Standing in the foyer for fifteen minutes, waiting for a guy who was supposed to be his subordinate.

Bodyguard.

Whatever.

The point here was not _who_ Aomine was supposed to be, but _where_.

Not that Ryouta was particularly eager to see him. Three days of living in the same damn house – a house that could accommodate a squadron of soldiers and still put no more than two people in the same room, by the way – and he was ready to gut someone, preferably Aomine himself.

Because for all the things Aomine Daiki was or wasn’t, annoying was on top of the list of adjectives Ryouta could find for him.

Aomine was an ill-mannered epitome of everything Ryouta had no desire to associate with. And for some unfathomable reason everyone in this fucking family seemed enchanted with him.

His own brother decided to trust that unwashed boor with Ryouta’s life after only seeing him for a couple of minutes (granted Akashi Seijurou had an uncanny ability to read people like a children’s book, but still).

Even the ever unsocial Kuroko seemed to take a liking to Aomine. Ryouta has seen them with his own eyes, sitting together, talking amiably like old friends, with Kagami bustling around the kitchen and from time to time interjecting some jokes into their quiet conversation.

It was fucking unfair.

That kind of easy camaraderie was something Ryouta had never experienced here. These people, the best Akashi had, were his mentors and protectors. They were his family, however twisted the meaning of the word was in an organized crime world.

But despite his ability to stand up for himself and his status, Ryouta always felt looked down upon. Not in a condescending manner exactly, but patronizing, yes, definitely patronizing. He was always the baby brother, someone to look after, someone they were all fond of, but would never see as an equal.

Here comes Aomine Daiki and after only couple of days he is accepted the way Ryouta have never been. The way he probably never will be. And just like that his initial aversion for Aomine turned into something that very much resembled a blind hatred.

There was a commotion on the stairs and the man himself came tumbling down like an avalanche. Nonchalant as though it was perfectly normal to make your employer wait for so long.

"Yo."

Ryouta thought he heard something crack as his teeth ground together.

"Is that supposed to be an apology?” He asked glowering at his companion and added injecting as much venom as he could manage into his sugary polite tone. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak hobo.”

Lightening blazed inside Aomine’s stormy blue gaze, his face donning an angry flash. Ryouta could see the war raging inside – on one hand, while it was obvious that Ryouta was purposely spoiling for a fight it was also obvious that Aomine would gladly give it to him. On the other, it kind of defeated the purpose of being a bodyguard if you were the one trying to beat your charge up.

“What d’ I have to apologize for?” He asked, apparently deciding to be sensible. Well, Ryouta was in no mood for sensible.

“How about making me wait for your lazy ass for twenty minutes?” he asked, every word dripping with sarcasm.

That made Aomine pause, his head turning to look at the ornate grandfather clock standing not far from the entrance.

“Shit,” he swore upon seeing the time, sheepish look on his face. “Look, I…” he started and then paused, apparently having no excuse for his dawdling.

Well, damn. Ryouta really counted on the fact that their mutual aversion will prompt Aomine to be contrary on principle. This guy was not supposed to be apologetic or remorseful in any way.

Lips pursed, he tossed his blond hair to the side in a careless gesture and turned on his heel, looking over his shoulder.

“Whatever. Get yourself a watch – we’re going shopping anyway.”

Kasamatsu-sempai was going to kill him, but the resulting horror on Aomine's face was well worth it.

 

Shopping trip turned out to be exactly what Ryouta needed. Even if Kasamatsu-sempai grumbled the whole time ("Why the hell are we going shopping like three giggly girls, Kise? You need new clothes like I need a hair bleach"). And Moriyama-sempai complained about his nonexistent love life non-stop ("Even without you around, girls don't turn to me! This grouch gets more attention than me, it's not fair!").

They were the closest thing he had to friends - his sempai from high school. And he missed them more than he would ever admit to their faces.

They probably knew about his parentage – people tended to know those things even though it was supposed to be a top secret – but no questions were ever asked or explanations demanded. Even the fact that there was a tall dark and scowling guy trailing after Ryouta when he came to the meeting place did not faze either of them at all.

Ryouta's short "This is Aomine, he'll be coming with us today" was only followed by a "whatever" and a cuff on the back of the head by Kasamatsu-sempai ("For being late, idiot!").

He didn’t know if they preferred to play ignorant, thinking they would be safer that way, or just honestly didn’t care that their silly kohai was actually a mafia prince.

It was probably better not to know, he concluded. They say ignorance is bliss and while Ryouta could never fully agree with that statement, he could definitely vouch that knowledge is disappointment.

 

“Kise, are you out of your fucking mind?!” Kasamatsu-sempai demanded as Ryouta shoved all three of them into the store dressing room. And even whispering and flustered at being stuffed into the small cubicle with two of his not so small friends, he still sounded like the strict demanding captain from Ryouta’s school years.

And Ryouta still felt that ridiculous urge to bow down and apologize.

“But, sempai, all you need to do is distract Aomine while I slip away,” he complained in his most childish tone, explaining his earlier request.

“To do what exactly?” was the immediate question, the one he did not want to answer, but will have to nonetheless.

“I–”

“You’re meeting that guy again, aren’t you?” Moriyama-sempai asked in a rare moment of insight. And, damn, did it have to be now?

Ryouta looked at his shuffling feet. There was nothing for it.

“Yeah.”

“Wait. What guy?” Kasamatsu’s scowl deepened in concentration, he was truly blind when it came to those things.

“C’mon, Yuki-chan,” Moriyama teased wriggling his eyebrows, prompting Kasamatsu’s scowl to become truly murderous. “You know who I’m talking about; you hate him too much not to know.”

As he saw the realization dawn on the frowning man, Ryouta stilled himself for the inevitable tirade.

“What?! Kise, you cannot be serious!” he exclaimed a little too loudly and clumped his mouth shut. After a little pause though he continued, whispering now, his tone accusing. “You said you broke it off.”

“You sound like a jealous boyfriend, sempai,” Ryouta teased, trying to dissipate the tension.

Naturally, it had the opposite effect.

“Kise,” Kasamatsu almost growled, taking a menacing half step towards him.

“Alright. Fine! We did, but then a couple of months later we picked up right where we started. I… it’s not just something casual, sempai. I know you are wary of him, but you have no reason to be. He’s very good to me.”

The ire in the dark haired man’s gaze had dulled somewhat, but the doubt was still lingering. So was concern.

“Sempai, I promise. It has been two years now. Don’t you think something would have happened already if it was supposed to?”

Lips pursed, Kasamatsu paused. He had no argument, Ryouta knew. He had nothing but the hunch to back up his protests. And a hunch was not good enough.

“We won’t be able to hold that Aomine guy forever, he will find out you’re gone pretty soon.”

It was their last ditch effort to stop him from going. It was not going to work.

“You don’t need to. Just give me some time to sneak away and then give him this,” Ryouta said, thrusting a small folded note into his sempai’s hand. He knew them enough, to be sure that it will stay folded until it reached the recipient. They were both too damn honorable for that to happen any other way.

“Fine,” Kasamatsu muttered and looked at Moriyama, who nodded in response. “Just… be careful, all right?”

Ryouta nodded and beamed, warmed by their concern. He resisted the urge to hug them though, knowing it would only result in a painful kick to the shins.

 

The hotel room was barely lit as Ryouta slipped into it, the door closing behind him with a soft snick. There was not much to see anyhow, as it was a pretty generic room that could be found in any hotel. Not too expensive, but not cheap ether, its most prominent future was the king sized bed in the middle, the red brocade comforter downturned on one side.

A hand slid around his throat, gentle, but demanding, long fingers spread on either side.

“Ryouta,” the voice breathed into his ear, sending shivers of anticipation and arousal all over his skin. Ryouta closed his eyes and breathed in a familiar scent, tension leaving his body like a rush of water.

The name left his lips like a prayer of gratitude. He was finally where he belonged, in the arms of the man who made him feel safer than an army of bodyguards.

“Shougo.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kagami sort of turned out more like Kyoshi, sorry?  
> And yeah, Haizaki was going to be there form the start. Haven't decided how bad he is though.  
> 


End file.
